Breathing Exercises

I sit in his driveway, counting the seconds as I breathe in and out. My hands grip the wheel firmly, bringing to mind how I want to be held down later. My heart beats, and my eyes can’t settle on where to look. I’m always like this when first meeting someone—a nervous wreck. These anxious episodes are a part of my dating routine, as natural for me as my blood pumping through veins. From my fingertips to my ears to my pussy, everything pulses. And even if whoever I’m meeting has seen a photo of my nude body, I’m still afraid I’ll surprise or disappoint them.

But first, I really should just get out of the car. 

On my third exhale, I make my move. With a vibrator and lube in my purse, I unbutton my shirt a bit. Should I have worn the green top instead? I read somewhere that women should wear bright colors to look most attractive. Tonight I’ve dressed in all black because it’s “slimming” and in my comfort zone. Should I have worn a dress? Easy access for him, but so off brand for me. I’m a pants kind of woman, but is now the time to challenge myself? Despite the reeling thoughts, I know I chose a good bra and panty for the night. Meditating on my sexy underwear, I’m ready to meet my new fuck buddy.

He opens the door, his charcoal, athletic shorts making his excitement obvious. “Come on in.”

I enter and admire the two-story ceiling and the hardwood floors just as I admire the bulge in his pants. The setting sunlight leaks through the floor-to-ceiling windows, coloring the space orange. A leather couch near the center of the room catches my eye, too small for a whole sex session but definitely big enough for the warm-up. 

I smile to myself.

The place is clean, no dust anywhere that I can see. I leave my shoes at the door so as not to track my mess through his bachelor pad. There’s no smell that I notice, good or bad. A few pictures are hung up, the beginnings of an at-home collection. 

I’ve never had sex with someone who owns a whole house. I can moan as loud as I want all over this place. Kitchen, bedroom, office. Here, arousal knows no bounds.

“Would you like something to drink?”

“Water’s fine.” I imagine him eating me out on the cool granite countertop. His neighbors would get quite a show.

“Thank you.” I wet my dry throat and follow him to the couch.

“How are you doing?” he says.

I take another breath. “A bit nervous. You might need to be the one to start things off.”

“Not a problem.”

We’ve only been talking for a week—we found each other on a dating app. I liked his smile. It was one of the whole-face, squinty-eyes smiles. I easily imagined him laughing before taking that photo. Also, he has a job. Employment is hot. 

We matched, transitioned to messaging, discovered a shared interest in sexual wellness, and had phone sex last night. It started with conversations of favorite foods and movies.

“I love fruit and chocolate.”

“Me too! I have a huge sweet tooth.”

Foods then focused on aphrodisiacs, and movies concentrated on sex scenes.

“What’s the best sex scene you’ve ever seen?”

“A foreign film. I forget the name, but there’s this threesome scene. Beautiful.”

We shared our kinks and turn-ons. While he wants me to use his butt plug on him, I want him to call me a slut. Some people shudder at the word “kink,” we talk about it as if we’re making plans for brunch. It’s easy, like talking about sex should be. It had been awhile since I heard a man talk to me like that and I missed it.

With just our voices and words, we made each other orgasm. Yes, I was assisted by my vibrator. The point is, it didn’t take us long after to arrange our first in-person meeting. I had sexted many men via apps before, but he was the first to ask to talk on the phone. Knowing what his voice sounds like calms my nerves like a sip of tequila. 

As we manage some small talk, we take note of each other’s bodies. I admire his arms, as he stares at my lips. His shirt is deliciously stretched. I lick my freckled lips, and he readjusts his pants. We lock eyes before I pull away and sip my drink.

“I really want to kiss you right now,” he says.

“For me, kisses are the most intimate,” I look for any sour reaction to my confession. Instead, he continues to listen, eyes engaged and ears perked. I was a late bloomer. Grades ranked above dates. Scoring scholarships was like holding hands for me. That’s what mattered most to me, until the scholarships ran their course, and I was alone with a degree and a job and no romantic resume. “You can start by touching my body.”

“Where would you like me to touch?”

“Anywhere, but my tits are fun to play with.”

I look down as he unbuttons the rest of my shirt. He basks at my cleavage, eyes wide, and I smirk at his hunger. My ex-partners have told me my tits have a great shape to them, heavy on the bottom and soft to the touch. However, none of them have yet to realize that one is bigger than the other without me telling them. They’re too hypnotized to notice. He cups my breast, while his other hand rests on my thigh. 

I whimper. I haven’t been touched like this in such a long time. Since my last breakup, he’s the first. Two months off the market, and I still manage to match with a blue-eyed, sculpted beauty like him. 

The realization makes me join him in his hunger.

“Can I take off your shirt?” He asks.

“Sure.” I raise my arms, and he pulls the garment up and off. Once he looks back at my chest, his eyes go big, my nipples poking through my sheer black bra. He cups my breast again and massages.

“You can go beyond the bra,” I add. “Touch me.”

Without pause, he slithers his hand past the sheer fabric. With his hand rubbing against my nipple, I moan and let my head fall back. With my eyes closed, I feel wetness enveloping me. I moan and swing my head back up to see his tongue circling that sensitive spot. 

The visual is too hot to handle. I moan again.

“Can I kiss you now?” He asks. I pause at this moment, having someone so eager to please me. He’s staring, waiting for my response, waiting like a dog told to stay. With his passion and patience, he proves himself worthy.

“Yes,” I answer without hesitation. His icy eyes grow big at the sexy surprise but soon turn sultry. As our lips dance, his fingers tug on my breast, so I moan into his mouth and pull on his hair, our lips grazing each other. 

“Do you want to go upstairs?”

“Sure.”

I follow him to the second floor, and as we climb the stairs, my nerves return. Like pausing a movie at the tip of the climax, all I can think about is what’s going to happen next. With each step up the stairs, I entertain a new possibility. Will I satisfy him? Will he satisfy me? Will he like my body? Will I like his? Is he hiding anything? Will I be able to focus? Did I lock my car? 

I need to get in control. I need to get rid of this pressure and enjoy myself, but there’s nothing quite like the word “pressure” to make you feel pressured. 

Get in control, woman. I snap myself out of it.

“Lie on the bed,” I order, and he obeys. I don’t know what’s more surprising: my dominant energy or his unwavering faith in me. With a whole man ready to please me, I humor my new role in an attempt to dull the nerves. “Take off your clothes.” I watch as his pecs, quads, and cock are revealed. What will I enjoy more: the pecs to claw at or the quads he uses to thrust? Regardless, I most like to see a cock hard for me.

I love sucking it even more...

He lies back on the bed. With shaking hands, I take off my bra. My naked tits fall. Although I personally think they sag too much, he awes at them. His hands paw at the blanket beneath him, ready to grab my chest. I take off my pants and thong, revealing my vulva slowly and sensually. 

I wait for him to scoff at my long lips, but he instead admires my body from head to toe. I blush. If only I could bottle his reaction.

Empowered and aiming to please, I push his legs apart and position myself to take his cock in my mouth. Let’s see if he likes my methods. I lick from the base of his shaft to the tip and swirl my tongue around his head. He’s already shivering.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“That felt so good.”

I smirk. He’s in for a good time. My wet mouth surrounds his tip as I begin to bob up and down, pushing myself to take more of him in each time. His moans cheer me on. I keep going, and soon enough his tip hits the back of my throat. I gag and lift my head, a trail of saliva connecting my lips to his cock.

“That’s so hot.” He makes an obvious observation. I use my spit to wet his dick, pump his shaft with my hand, and pick up the speed, going faster and faster.

“Can I fuck you now?” He asks. 

I stop and look at him. I hate how I always find it surprising that someone wants to fuck me. I wish I could know my sex appeal 24/7. I wish my confidence didn’t ebb and flow. However, at this moment I feel sexy, respected, and real. It may be the cock in my mouth or the arched back. I’m not sure of the cause, but I do know I want to get fucked by this man.

“Sure.” I sit up. On the one hand, I want him to rail me with the very cock that’s in my grasp. On the other hand, I know my body has to be really really ready in order to handle penetration.. 

Before I realize it, he flips me over onto my back. He comes in for a messy, wet kiss. Then, seconds later, he draws his lips away from mine, leaving me to whimper. He then starts his way down my body. 

I feel my nerves rise again. Does he like going down on his lovers? Will my pubic hair be in his way? Will he complain?

“Your pussy is gorgeous.” With his words, my shoulders loosen. As he kisses my inner thighs, my eyes flutter shut, blissed out. He breathes on my lips, and I’m putty. I look at him, just in time to see him spreading my lips with his fingers. I feel open and sensational. 

He licks up my pussy. I begin to shake.

For the first time encountering my vulva, he does a tremendous job. After he sucks on my lips and flicks my clit with his tongue, I’m throwing a tantrum. Twisting, kicking, and screaming. All out of pleasure. 

After sucking my clit for just a moment too short, he lifts up and brings his face back to mine, leaving me on such a high.

“I think you’re ready for my cock now.”

I whimper and then respond, “You should know that I’m really tight.... I’m not talking dirty. I have a tight pussy.”

“Okay. Thanks for letting me know.” He kisses me before fetching a condom. As he prepares himself, I rub my clitoris in slow circles. I already miss his lips on me. Once ready, he positions himself above me. “You ready?”

“Yeah, it might hurt at first, but I’ll be okay. I’ll stretch out.”

“You sure? We don’t have to.”

“No, no. I want to. I’m getting nervous the more we talk about it.” I smile at him.

“Okay.” He lines up his cock with my vagina. I inhale and tense up. “Breathe out,” he tells me. I listen to him and exhale. He pushes his tip into me. I wince at the mild discomfort, and his eyes light up with concern.

“Keep going,” I say. “I’m okay.”

He pushes ever so slowly, but once his head passes my opening, he fills me up with ease. Once I exhale, I let go of the largest moan yet.

“You’re so tight,” he says.

“I told you... Now, fuck me.”  We’ve conquered my tightness, so now we can do anything. If there is one thing my small hole is good for, it’s for making partners come. It’s been too long since my body’s been painted. I want to feel good and accomplished.

He kisses me one last time before pulling away and thrusting back in. My moans only get bigger.

“Deeper,” I tell him. I’m clawing at his back to sink his whole cock into me. To reach that sweet spot inside. To fill me up. I’m straining my neck and screaming. I’d love to see myself and my fucked out face.

“Can I take you from behind?” He asks.

“Yes.” Eager to rail me, he slides out, leaving me empty yet excited for more. I position myself, with my ass high and waiting for him.

“God, you’re sexy.”

I smirk and feel his hands on my hips. I ready myself, arms strong and back bent. Then, I feel his tip on my lips.

“You ready?”

“Yes, sir.”

He moans at my word choice and eases his cock into my pussy. This time, I’m ready and stretched to take him, but I’m still amazed at how good it feels to have his whole cock inside me.

He begins thrusting, and I immediately scream with the extra inch of penetration. My arms shake. My elbows buckle. My face is in a pillow that just barely muffles my moans.

Just then, I feel a hand in my hair. I’m pulled up and flush with his body.

He whispers in my ear, “I didn’t say you could lie down.”

I stutter, in between my heavy breathing. I can’t get the words out. I’m a mess.

“I won’t fuck you again until you say you’re sorry.”

All I can do is whimper.

“Slow down. Breathe in. Breathe out.” His voice in my ear sends shivers down my spine. My body quivers again.

“You’re desperate for my cock, aren’t you?”

“I’m sorry,” I say, breathy and weak.

“You’re such a good slut.” I whimper again. He remembered... I am a sexually empowered woman—“slut” isn’t a bad word— and hearing him echo that thought back to me, hearing it resonate in the air, I’m electrified. I’m fulfilled, using my ears and soul to turn me on even more.

My body is pushed down, and I soon feel his cock inside me. 

We’re right back at where we left off, and I catapult into ecstasy. The scene is so hot. The moaning. The rocking back and forth. The power of his thrusting. The fullness. The warmth. I feel so sexy and empowered. The nervous woman who entered this house has been transformed. From sipping on water to screaming profanities. From being nervous to kiss to taking his cock so well. I’m a good slut now.

“I’m gonna come,” he says.

“Where?”

“On your tits.”

I turn around, push my breasts together, and look at his entranced face. Just before he comes, we glance at each other. I know I’m a sight to behold.

His eyes shut in bliss, and he pumps himself onto my tits, painting my body. Our trophy for a job well done. He jerks a few more times before I rise up to kiss him. It’s sloppy as hell, but neither of us cares. All nerves have melted.

“How about we clean you off.” He leads me to the shower. “Then, it’s your turn.”

“My turn for what?” I want to hear him say it.

“To come.”

Photo by Margarita